


this is home

by zauberer_sirin



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, POV Bellamy Blake, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 03:12:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16077161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Based on the prompt:❝You’re the girl I want to be slow dancing with at 2AM in my kitchen.❞Raven + Bellamy + things you said to me at 2AM: canon compliant, canon divergence, modern au. Raven and Bellamy have a lot of things to say, so why not say them to each other in the dead of night, when things are still.





	this is home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raiindust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiindust/gifts).



**[1]**

Ever since he moved into the artists’ residence Bellamy has noticed Raven Reyes likes to stay up late working.

Though even he hardly categorizes their first encounter in the kitchen (when everybody else is asleep) as comfortable he’s had enough warning on the matter that Raven’s sudden appearance at two in the morning doesn’t cause him a heart attack.

“You smell like something is burning,” Bellamy tells her as she goes to re-heat some long-forgotten pot of coffee. He doesn’t mean it to sound so poetic.

Raven looks through him as if he wasn’t there. Or as if she doesn’t recognize the person in front of her. They’ve only really talked once since he moved in, he wonders if she even remembers his name.

“Oh yeah,” she says, lifting her arm to smell her own skin. “It’s a tough piece to crack.”

She says it casually, speaking to the shadows in the room, not really talking to Bellamy.

He doesn’t know how to follow up to that. It’s the first time he’s lived with so many people; he’s used to being on his own, or with O. He doesn’t love that the people are slightly younger, but when Monty told him how low the rest was he couldn’t really refuse. The place is a five minute walk from the uni Bellamy works at as a teaching assistant.

He watches Raven wait impatiently for her coffee, no further acknowledgement of his existence, and tries to remember what Monty say she did. Sculpture. She has already finished college and is now working towards her masters degree. Something about found material… Bellamy doesn’t really get it.

 

**[2]**

For the first couple of months she keeps to herself a lot. She has been curt and asocial since Bellamy has known her, a knife of a girl. Monty advised him to stay away for a bit, that she had just broken up with her childhood sweetheart, the love of her life as Monty put it. Or rather it was the boyfriend who broke up with her and that detail throws Bellamy off a bit because who the hell breaks up with Raven Reyes. He’d be too scared, for starters.

The first real conversation they have is again in the kitchen, again at night. Raven doesn’t show up at meal times or joins the others when they watch tv in the evening. She excuses herself, mumbling something about her work in the studio. She does her bit to keep the house clean and the students living here often say that if you’re ever in trouble Raven is the person to go to, but so far she’s more like the ghost of the residence more than anything.

“Sorry, did this wake you?” Bellamy asks, turning off his portable radio when she walks into the kitchen. He knows he shouldn’t be working out here, but his stupid desk broke and the kitchen table is the only decent surface in the whole building, it’ll have to do until he gets a new desk.

She shakes her head, mutters something about an all nighters and goes for the coffee. This time there’s a fresh pot, which Bellamy hopes she’ll appreciate.

“I’ve seen you with this,” Raven says, running her fingers along the little radio. “Why do you use this piece of crap? I know you’re a history teacher, but that doesn’t mean you have to live in the olden times. Use spotify.”

“I’m not a teacher,” he corrects her, defensive. So she’s heard things about his life too. He turns the volume all the way down, the last couple of notes from a chamber piece turning into nothing, into 2AM silence. “I’m just an assistant. And it’s the static.”

Raven turns her whole body towards him, giving Bellamy her full attention. That hasn’t happened before.

“The static?”

“The static noise of this piece of crap,” he tells her. “I don’t know how to explain it but it helps me concentrate when I’m working.”

Raven gives his words a serious look, too serious, and like she’s looking through Bellamy and into some faraway land and he wonders if she is going to fall asleep right there, leaning against the sink.

“No, I completely get that,” she says simply, and then grabs her coffee and leaves.

 

**[3]**

He doesn’t like parties, but he is very good at pretending he does, when the rest of his flatmates want to throw one for Wells on his birthday. Bellamy finds himself helping organize the whole thing, even though he promised himself, back when he moved in, that he wouldn’t get involved in the lives of these people, he is here for the cheap rent and to get on with his work and nothing else. Raven, because she is the only one who doesn’t have to attend regular classes anymore, goes with him to get the decorations. They find a warehouse on the outskirts of town that sells suspiciously cheap party supplies and they save enough that they can afford some decent food for the party. Something for grown-ups, Bellamy doesn’t want to spend the night on funyuns and terrible beer.

The party gets more crowded than he was expecting, with a lot of strangers filling every corner of what, unexpectedly, he has come to think of as home. It seems like the whole art academy is in his living room. Maybe that’s exactly the case, considering how popular Wells is.

He seeks refuge in the kitchen, deserted once the fridge has been raided. Deserted except for Raven nursing another drink. She’s not drunk but Bellamy has never seen her like tonight. Angry, wondering out loud who “invited that asshole to the party”. But she says it in a way that makes it clear to Bellamy (tired after mixing cocktails all night, and making sure the common areas don’t get too dirty) that if anyone else but her called her ex-boyfriend “asshole” Raven would probably punch them in the face. Bellamy is way too tired to care and he tries to stay away from all this drama. But it’s hard to stay away when he finds himself cornered against the kitchen table. It’s hard to stay away when Raven’s mouth is suddenly on his, all hot and angry and, most of all, terribly sad. His hands go to hold her on instinct, wrapping around her back, rolling up her top to get at her warm, perfect skin. Bellamy knows this is nothing, Raven is both blue and trying to get back at someone, trying to get back something. Bellamy is very good at pretending that works for him too.

 

**[4]**

It’s not like they become bosom buddies after all, or that Bellamy wants to even think of words like “bosom” when he is around her, for that matter, after what happened. But the sex, ironically, relaxes things between them afterwards, makes their interactions easier.

They never talk about it, though.

At first that’s a relief — Bellamy knows that night wasn’t his finest moment, precisely. But as times goes by it becomes a tiny voice in the back of his mind, sometimes, when he is hanging out with Raven. _Why do we never talk about it?_

Soon it’s too late to bring it up, because they’re friends, actual real friends. Bellamy wouldn’t want to risk that for anything. Not when he realizes that he actually looks forward to seeing Raven appear from the shadows in the middle of the night, walking into their kitchen like a ghost, body all knotted from too much work and too much concentration. Bellamy makes sure she always has fresh coffee waiting for her, and a snack or two, to replenish energy from whatever the hell she is doing down there in her studio. He has no idea. But it looks a lot more exhausting than grading papers for clueless first year college students. 

It’s their little ritual, and as the year passes Bellamy is starting to think he must have imagined the whole thing, there’s no way Raven Reyes ever had sex with him.

 

**[5]**

“You’re going to make yourself sick over this,” he points out.

She stumbles into the kitchen, wrapped in a blanket, looking all pale and sweaty and coughing like the heroine of a tragic 19th century novel. Bellamy winces at the image.

“Too late, I’m already sick,” she replies, looking so proud, like that gives her the upper hand.

He grabs her by the shoulders, gently but firmly (she’s shaking a bit, and god she’s smaller than she looks, her skin hot but not in the pleasant way Bellamy remembers), and makes her sit on his chair.

“I’ll make you something hot,” he tells her.

“Coffee is hot.”

“Something that’s not coffee,” he replies, frowning, trying to remember some quick recipe that might help someone like Raven.

There’s nothing wrong with her, she’s just...tired.

“Bellamy, the group show is in two weeks, I have to finish this piece,” she tells her. “Just because I’m not healthy like— “

“It’s not about that,” he cuts her off. Then he smiles at her over his shoulder. “Just give me fifteen minutes.”

The cupboard is predictably depleted, but he has enough to make some rice porridge.

He gets Raven some herbal tea while she waits for the food. Part of him hopes she would fall asleep right there on the table. Over the exams he should be marking right now, instead of cooking. If she fell asleep maybe she could get a few hours’ rest. When had that last happened? Staring at her Bellamy wonders if she even remembers the last time she slept all night.

“I didn’t know artists worked so hard when I moved here,” he confesses. He thought he’d be surrounded by spoiled brats.

“You didn’t know a lot of things,” she tells him.

Bellamy chuckles. Only Raven Reyes could call me a dumbass and make him feel good about it.

Silence passes between them, but it’s not really silence, there’s the music from Bellamy’s radio, and the sound of Raven sipping her tea, the noise of the water warming up. Not that he enjoys seeing Raven feeling sick, but he thinks _this is nice_. His life hasn’t been very quiet as of late. And he wouldn’t admit it, but he likes taking care of people.

Raven makes a funny face when he puts the bowl of porridge in front of her.

“It doesn’t look pretty, but it will help. Eat.”

“Yes, grandpa,” she teases him.

He rolls his eyes. “Cute.”

She approaches the food with suspicion. Rather than contemplate that spectacle Bellamy busies himself making coffee. It’s not just Raven working hard for this last stretch of the academic year. It seems like he is stuck with his TA position for the foreseeable future, the only upside of that is that he can use money as an excuse to keep living in this building. He pinches the bridge of his nose, willing away thoughts of the future.

When he turns around Raven is eating.

“It’s good,” she says, like she’s surprised. “Where did you learn to make this?”

“I used to cook a lot for my sister,” Bellamy replies.

Raven’s face softens. He thinks people don’t give her enough credit for being a good person, and she should hear that more often.

“Thank you,” she says.

“It’s nothing.”

He’s not sure what’s going on. He likes that he and Raven are a bit gruff with each other. He enjoys their gentle antagonism. They push each other, that’s what they do. It’s how they show they care.

“I’m not used to people helping me out,” Raven tells him. “Well, that’s not true, Finn did but hey, one more reason why I want to do things on my own right now.”

Bellamy nods, letting her off the hook of explaining any further. It may be bold to say that he and Raven Reyes are very alike but… they _are_ very alike. It’s better if she doesn’t know he knows that.

 

**[6]**

He has somehow forgotten about their ritual, or he has lost track of time, but Raven catches him hopelessly fiddling with this piece of junk radio that refuses to work anymore.

“Hey, what happened there?” she asks, pouring Bellamy, as well as herself, a mug of coffee. She does it on instinct.

His desk is a mess, after over an hour of fighting with the faulty device.

“He gave up on me,” Bellamy sighs, setting the radio aside. “As you said, it’s just a piece of crap.”

He’s trying hard not to be a baby about this.

Raven comes closer, running her fingers over the stupid useless device, like she did the night they had their first proper conversation.

“Didn’t your sister give it to you?”

He is surprised she remembers the detail.

Bellamy shrugs, taking the radio in his hand and placing it on top of the fridge.

“Whatever,” he says. “Now it can be hipster decoration.”

He doesn’t turn to see Raven’s expression, and for the first time that he remembers, he is the one to walk out of the kitchen in, walk out on her, the middle of the night.

 

**[7]**

Like with most of the people living in his building Bellamy doesn’t quite understand Raven’s art. But he always knew it must be very beautiful, and something new.

He just wasn’t prepared for how _big_ it was.

“Hey, you came,” Raven says when she sees her at the opening night for her group exhibition.

She sounds surprised.

“Of course I came.”

Of course, he thinks. You’re my best friend. 

“It’s just that you said you were going to see your sister for a couple of weeks and this thing is so late.”

“I booked the morning train,” he said.

Raven wraps her hand around his arm and squeezes.

“Thank you,” she tells him. Sincere, away from the slightly-defensive tone she is so partial to.

He looks at her and for a moment she seems out of place, then he remembers she actually exists outside 2AM kitchen conversation, she exists outside her worn out pajama trousers and old t-shirts.

The whole art gallery opening thing is a lot less posh than Bellamy had anticipated. It was pretty lowkey (Bellamy is a little alarmed at how many of the people in here he actually knows) and no one is wearing evening frocks or eating caviar. Even Raven, the obvious star of the shows, has showed up in jeans and her favorite red top.

Bellamy shifts his gaze, points at her sculpture.

“Speaking of trains…”

“Yeah.”

“Now I know why you worked so hard,” he tells her, beholding the work of art, so big that it almost reaches the ceiling of the gallery. “How did you even…?”

Raven smiles, obviously proud of her accomplishment. Let alone the artistic part, Bellamy is impressed by the sheer physical strength it must have taken.

“They were decommissioning an old train track behind the uni, selling the materials very cheap. I had some money saved and Professor Sinclair helped me moved the metal into my studio.”

“It’s… impressive.”

Raven takes a step towards him and hip-checks him, friendly.

“It’s okay,” she tells him. “You can say I’m awesome.”

He doesn’t have much time to talk to her after that; understandably the crowd gravitates towards her. Fellow students and teachers take turns to congratulate her. Bellamy doesn’t have the chance to say goodbye. He almost does, he almost lingers — but it would be a stupid reason to miss his train.

 

**[8]**

He doesn’t know why he goes to the kitchen once he’s left his bags in his room, when he’s just come from his trip and he should be going straight to bed.

“Crap, I thought your train was tomorrow,” Raven says as a manner of greeting. He’s clearly walked in on something, because she hurries to hide something behind her back, on the kitchen table.

“I caught an earlier train,” he explains, distracted by the way her body shields whatever she’s hiding from view. “What is going on?”

He’s too curious to even greet her. They haven’t seen each other for two weeks. He watches her struggle with a decision. Eventually she shrugs and narrows her eyes at him.

“It was a surprise, thanks for ruining it, Blake.”

She steps away from the table.

There are some newspapers spread over it, and some tools, a screwdriver, wires. And in the middle of the mess there’s his old portable radio. He turns and gives Raven a questioning look.

“I fixed it,” she explains. 

“You could?”

It’s such a dumb question Raven doesn’t even dignify it with an answer. Of course he could fix a stupid old radio, she makes sculptures out of discarded bits of train track. And anyway it wasn’t the question he really wanted to ask.

“Why?”

Raven looks away. She shrugs away. Bellamy would say she’s embarrassed but that doesn’t seem right. He resigns himself that this question, too, will go unanswered.

“Because it meant a lot you,” Raven tells him.

Bellamy notices her hand is resting on the table. Smeared with something. Raven’s hands are always dirty from building something wonderful. Bellamy reaches his hand towards her, very slowly, his fingers skimming over the surface of the table, almost touching Raven’s fingers. Almost, not quite. Almost, never quite.

She moves away, he guesses on purpose.

“And I found something else when I was fixing it,” Raven says. She picks up the radio in her hands and starts moving the dials. “Did you know that this radio could play _something other_ than classical music?”

Bellamy, lost in thought, takes a moment to catch up with the fact that she is mocking him and his taste in music. He’d be angry, except Raven is smiling at him with a warm smile, the same smile as the night she was sick and cooked for her.

“Very funny.”

“Aw, come on,” she says, and puts the radio on the table again. Soon the room fills with the sound of some slow 1960s soul piece, and that guess is as far as Bellamy‘s knowledge of modern music goes, and he is not looking forward to Raven calling him a grandpa again.

“What is this?” he asks, looking at Raven’s arm stretched towards him, her hand gesturing for him to come towards her.

Raven sighs.

“It’s called dancing,” she tells him. “You might have heard of it.”

“You want to…”

“Dance with you, yes.”

Bellamy decides he won’t be told twice.

Raven leads, because of course she does.

It takes them a moment to get into the rhythm of the song and suddenly Bellamy realizes how dimly lit the kitchen is; it didn’t seem that way all those other times when Raven had showed up for coffee, snacks, conversation, company. 

Raven pulls him against her body, holding on to his shoulders. Bellamy yields happily, burying his face in her hair. She smells better than he remembered. Everything about being close to her is better than he remembered, actually.

“You fixed my radio,” he whispers into the crook of her neck, his voice breaking pathetically.

“Of course,” she tells him.

Bellamy wraps his hands around her back, pulling at her top to have something to anchor him.

The dancing doesn’t last long. It lasts as long as Raven’s patience does. Their bodies are still swaying to the soft music when she moves her mouth over Bellamy’s, slowly. He freezes, fearing that if he moves, if he makes the wrong choice here, Raven’s mouth is going to stop.

It does, and Raven pulls back a couple of inches. She sighs.

“I’m tired of being the one who kisses you,” she tells him. “You kiss me.”

Bellamy looks at her.

“Yeah, I can fix that,” he says, holding her face in his hands. He brushes his thumb along her cheek, wiping some more traces of dirt from her work. 

He touches his lips against hers and for a moment he thinks the angle is going to be all wrong and it’s going to feel all wrong, like the first time, but it isn’t, and it doesn’t. Raven breathes into his kiss and they fit perfectly. Part of him wants to do so well that it overwrites whatever memory Raven might have of their first night together. But a bigger part just wants to enjoy the moment, like he couldn’t enjoy it back then.

“Welcome home,” she tells him, when they finally break the kiss.

The word surprises him for a moment, and it scares him, but then she wraps her arms around his neck and holds him tight.

Bellamy rests his forehead against hers.

Raven is right, of course.


End file.
